


Towards the Sun

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: A Torrent of Light [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Family Feels, Good Morgana (Merlin), M/M, Magic Revealed, Protective Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: All it takes is a single act to sway the course of history. A little bit of kindness can go a long way to altering destiny.





	Towards the Sun

Morgana can count the times that she and Arthur have had a private supper together on the fingers of one hand. Usually, the only time they dine together is when they take dinner with the King in the private hall, and even then, it’s more formal than anything.

So, when Merlin comes to her chambers and informs her that Arthur’s asked for her company tonight, she’s both surprised…and suspicious.

“Do you think he’s plotting something, my lady?” Gwen asks, amused as she deftly twists Morgana’s hair up and begins fixing it in place with pins and combs.

“Undoubtedly.” She smooths a hand over her skirt, pondering what he could be up to, why he’d need her good graces on his side. “Probably some foolish quest that Uther’s forbidden,” she supposes aloud, though inwardly suspects more to it. She’d never say as such aloud, but she knows that Arthur is far cleverer than he pretends at.

“Well, I’m certain you’ll set him to rights,” Gwen replies confidently, arranging a few select coils of hair just so.

“Oh, I plan to. You’re dismissed for the evening, thank you.”

Smiling, her maidservant curtsies and leaves. Morgana appraises herself in the mirror once more, satisfied, then gets to her feet and heads in the direction of Arthur’s chambers.

It’s another mild surprise when Arthur answers the door wearing only a simple red shirt and breeches; raised amongst the peers of the realm, they both know that silk and brocade can serve just as well for armour in some situations. She herself is wearing one of her new gowns, a rich, vivid blue embellished with fine silver netting, matching the silver and sapphire pendant she wears about her neck. Arthur only arches an eyebrow at her attire and invites her in.

“So, what have you stepped in this time?” Morgana asks as she sits in the proffered chair beside his desk. “A fearsome beast, a dangerous quest? I think I should be charging you for my services.”

“You’re hilarious,” Arthur replies dryly.

“I do try.”

Merlin comes to attend unobtrusively whilst they talk, drawing away the stacks of books and parchment that cluttered the tabletop, placing two goblets and filling them with wine; perhaps he’s having a better day than usual, but he isn’t near as clumsy as he normally is. In fact, Morgana would almost say he’s graceful for once.

“Now, Morgana,” Arthur says. “I wanted to speak to you in private because this isn’t exactly something to be discussed in front of the King. And no, it does not have anything to do with any adventuring of any sort. I know you’re disappointed.”

As he speaks, he catches Merlin around the waist with both hands and lifts the young man effortlessly onto his lap, the motion so perfectly natural that Merlin doesn’t spill a drop of wine. The display of affection both amuses and touches Morgana, since she knows that Arthur is rare to show such obvious sentimentality in front of anyone, much less her, and it also speaks well to the influence that Merlin’s had on the prince. The garnet seal on his cloth-of-gold ribbon is still around the manservant’s neck, and Morgana believes it hasn’t left since the day she told Merlin what it meant, even though he’s prudent enough to hide it beneath those neckerchiefs of his whenever Uther has noticeably unwed noble maidens visit.

“Mm, clandestine meetings of a mysterious nature, the best part of my day. Do go on,” Morgana says, sipping the wine. Her favourite kind; the young man isn’t near as bad a servant as Arthur likes to claim.

“I will, but first, I think I feel a bit of a chill. Merlin?” Arthur says, patting the young man’s hip.

Merlin doesn’t make to rise from Arthur’s lap, only turns his gaze to the fireplace. _“Forbærnan,”_ he says, and his eyes flare into gold. With a soft _whumph,_ a fire blazes to lift in the hearth.

The goblet slips from her nerveless fingers, but freezes in midair before it spills against her gown, as if caught in an unseen hand, and is set back on the desktop, not a drop spilled. She looks to Merlin, trying to find words but coming up with nothing, a thousand little oddities and curiosities sliding into place like misaligned pieces of a mosaic falling together to form a whole, glittering picture ablaze with colour and light.

“Please don’t be angry,” Merlin murmurs softly.

“Or afraid.” Arthur’s voice is gentle, his arm still looped around the servant, a quiet reassurance.

“What…what…?”

Merlin explains then, his gaze never straying from hers, projecting honest sincerity. Morgana is near lightheaded, gripping the arms of her chair hard as the world rearranges itself around her with his words; a part of her is screaming that she needs to flee _now_ , horribly enough, visions of the headsman’s axe and pyres in her mind, and her gaze flicks down to Arthur’s side, where his sword is usually belted.

No sword. Just his hands, resting lightly on Merlin’s waist. When her eyes move back up, it’s to find Arthur looking back at her, a mix of sorrow, hurt, and guilt in his gaze.

“That’s not all,” Merlin says, drawing her attention back to him. He picks at the edge of his fingernail, hesitant despite the fact that he is now, unreservedly, the bravest person that Morgana has ever met. “Your dreams…are not just dreams.” He takes a breath; Arthur’s arm tightens around him. “You have magic, Morgana. Your dreams are visions. I believe you’re a seer.”

And there it is.

Morgana slumps in her seat, all the starch spilling from her. Her breath leaves in a rush, and everything even seems to waver slightly about her. She doesn’t know how long she stares at the empty air before her, trembling slightly, but she comes back to awareness when the goblet is once more in front of her, though it isn’t dangled in the air by any magic this time. Just Merlin, leaning forward over the desk with concern in his eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, Morgana,” Arthur repeats in a low voice. “I swear, nothing is going to happen to you. _Either_ of you. We’ll figure something out, the three of us.”

“Why?” Morgana whispers after a few swallows of wine to steady herself again. She knows that she isn’t exactly Arthur’s favourite person in the royal household. They’ve never been outright enemies, but they’ve never truly been friends, either, fondness braided with derision stretching back to childhood. “Why would you do this? Why tell me all of this now?”

Tactful despite his frequent actions otherwise, Merlin extricates himself from the prince’s lap and excuses himself with a murmur about fetching dinner.

Once the door whispers shut, Arthur looks back to Morgana. “Because you are my family,” he replies simply. “I know we haven’t always gotten on, but…you’ve been in my life since I was a child. I imagine without you, I’d have been perfectly wretched because whether or not I wanted to admit it, you were my only friend for a very long time. And I know that I never told you before, but Morgana, you are very much a sister to me.”

She’s always taken a certain pride in keeping a cool head in front of Arthur, in keeping herself aloof, but this is one shock too many in too short a time. She presses a hand to her mouth and bursts into tears.

For all his chivalry, Arthur truly is helpless around crying women; she vaguely hears him mutter, “Oh, dammit, not again.” He comes around the edge of the table, crouches beside her chair, and murmurs comforting nonsense, pressing a silk handkerchief into her hand, uncertain of what else to do.

Leaning forward, Morgana throws her arms around his neck and hugs him close. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Before she leans away, he tightens his grip so she can’t retreat, turns his head, and snuffles loudly against her neck, blowing in her ear. Morgana lets out a shriek and pushes against his shoulders, laughing even as she swats at him. He’d done the same thing when they were children, whenever she would hug him and refuse to let go, determined to cure his boyish stupidity with her affection. However, he hadn’t done it since they were at least eleven and he had finally grown long-legged enough to outrun her. “Arthur!” she giggles once he releases her, the weight of the atmosphere dispelled with laughter, as was his intention. “You…you…clotpole!”

His mouth falls open in mock disbelief. “How dare you! My own sister, you traitor.”

“See, I’m not the only one who thinks it,” Merlin interjects as he returns, carrying a full tray of food, nudging the door shut with one foot.

Arthur throws his hands up as he sinks back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”

Morgana laughs again, drying her face with the handkerchief, and Merlin gives her a sly wink. He sets the tray on the table, laying out the cutlery; Morgana and Arthur leave the desk to come to the table instead. He’s brought three portions, she realises, and draws up another chair to sit with them. The brazenness of the move would strike her as bold, if it wasn’t Merlin doing it, of course. The garnet winks redly in the firelight, and she realises that this, all of this, was planned by the pair of them. She throws a knowing glance to Arthur, arching one eyebrow; he only smiles back with perfect innocence. For all he likes to pretend otherwise, there’s a sharp mind behind the mail and muscle.

There’s a book on the table as well, and as they eat, Merlin slides it across to her. “It’s about the High Priestesses of the Old Religion. Some of them were seers. There’s pages in there on how to control your visions,” he says; where he got hold of such a book and how he’s kept it hidden thus far, she dares not ask. Not yet anyways. She’s not certain that her heart could take another shock, young though it is.

“Damned chicken-scratch, is what it is,” Arthur grumbles into his lamb.

“Can you not read this?” Morgana asks, turning the pages with her free hand, careful not to drip on the book at all.

He makes an ambiguous sort of sound. “Sort of? I can, but it’s like…trying to read something in a mirror. The letters all look strangely to me, but if I stare at it long enough, I can puzzle it out. Gives me a wicked headache, though.”

“I think it’s because it’s a magic text,” Merlin supplies between bites. “The book itself is enchanted somewhere, the pages, the ink, maybe what it was written with. It’s a kind of protection, I think, to keep the wrong people from reading it. Some things aren’t to be trifled with idly.”

“Whatever it is, for all the gods’ sake, do a better job of hiding it than Merlin, would you?” Arthur implores of her, throwing his consort a look that’s in equal parts consternation, exasperation, and affection.

“Why, what’s he do, hide it under his bed?” Morgana teases.

Merlin studies his plate with great interest, toying with his fork.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“Shut it, the both of you,” the young man grumbles, his ears bright pink.

She laughs aloud at that, heartier than she’s laughed in weeks, and for the first time in quite a long while, she feels…hopeful.


End file.
